Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Mr. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. Her steps slowed.
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